


white lace and a bottomless wineglass

by Elsajeni



Series: Good Omens Tinyfics [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Wedding Planning, arguably Accidental Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: Anathema blinks at them. “You’re already–-? Huh. For how long?”“Gosh,” Aziraphale says, “nearly two thousand years now,” at the same time as Crowley says, “1966, was it?”Inspired bythis manipby wilde-worms on tumblr:BEST FRIENDS THOUGHT THEY WERE ALREADY MARRIED COUPLE"We assumed it got officiated while we were drunk," they both agreedUnfortunately, they don't exactly agree onwhen.





	white lace and a bottomless wineglass

It doesn’t start out sounding like trouble. It starts out with Aziraphale asking innocently how the wedding planning is going, and Anathema letting out an agonized groan and saying, “Don’t, it’s _so stressful_ and at the same time it’s _so boring_, trust me, if you ever get married just _elope_.”

Crowley, recipient of several minor awards for infernal contributions to the wedding planning industry, makes an unconvincing sympathetic noise. Aziraphale makes a more sincere one, and then says, “I _am_ glad we don’t need to worry about it. Unless we do some sort of vow renewal, I suppose.”

Anathema blinks at them. “You’re already-–? Huh. For how long?”

“Gosh,” Aziraphale says, “nearly two thousand years now,” at the same time as Crowley says, “1966, was it?”

There’s a brief silence, during which Anathema diplomatically vanishes into the kitchen, muttering something about a fresh pot of tea. Aziraphale says, “Please tell me you don’t mean the _year_ 1966.”

“‘Course I do,” Crowley protests. “Masquerade ball thingy. One of your writer friends threw it. You were mad for it, you said it reminded you of the fifteenth century.”

“I do miss those masked balls,” Aziraphale says, wistfully. “No, of course I remember the party. You wore the loveliest dress, and you got absolutely sloshed. So drunk you forgot how to sober up. But-– a _wedding_, Crowley?”

“Well, not _at_ the party, obviously. After. The details are a little...” He pauses, suddenly alarmed, and says urgently, “That was you I left with, wasn’t it? I mean-– masks-–”

“Good grief, of course, I wasn’t letting you go off alone,” Aziraphale says. “Not in the state you were in. Anyway, everyone there wanted to be _seen_, the masks were mostly just decoration.”

“Right,” Crowley says, casting back in his rather blurry memories of the night. “Right. Yours was lace, I do remember that. White lace.”

“I can’t imagine you remember much else.”

“They brought out trays of spaghetti and meatballs at midnight and I thought it was the happiest I’d ever seen you.”

Aziraphale goes pink and says, “Well, one can’t drink _all_ night on an empty stomach.”

Crowley grins at him, though it comes off more indulgent than teasing. “Very sensible,” he says. “Anyway, it’s all a bit of a blur after that. But when I woke up we were-– well–-” This part is harder; he’s not sure how to say it, doesn’t like the idea that Aziraphale doesn’t remember it the same way. But he thinks _two thousand years, two thousand years, he thought it was old news, that’s all_ and stumbles only a little as he carries on, “I had your ring on, your old angel-wing one-- it hardly fit and I knew I’d have to give it back, but I thought I remembered you putting it on me. And you were asleep with your arms around me, and lipstick all over your face. And I heard rumors, afterward, something about a scandalous elopement, and I just-– I assumed it was us.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, softly.

“I hadn’t realized I was so late to the party. You don’t really mean two _thousand_...?”

“Well, I mean.” Aziraphale looks a little sheepish. “It must be close to that, but it’s like yours, I don’t remember exactly. It was someone’s wedding party, you know, romance in the air to start with, and they just kept bringing out more wine, long after I thought they’d have run out, and the wine kept getting _better_-–”

“Are you talking about when we were in _Cana_,” Crowley interrupts, staring at him in frank disbelief.

“Were we? It was so long ago, I don’t know how much I’d remember even if I hadn’t been drunk.”

“That was the first time I’d really seen you drunk, I think.” Crowley smiles, remembering. “Can’t have been the first time you _got_ properly drunk, they’d been making wine for millennia already, but I’d never been with you to see it. You kept setting your cup down and losing it, and you thought everything I said was just _enormously_ funny, and when I took you off to put you to bed you kept asking if I’d stay, and making all these silly-–”

He breaks off suddenly. Silly little promises, only-- only if Aziraphale’s thought for _two thousand years_ that they–-

“I meant all of it, you know,” Aziraphale says quietly. “Even back then, just as much as today. I’m sorry I only said it the once.”

“_Angel_,” Crowley says, and leans into him, and stays there for so long that, in the kitchen, Anathema gives up on diplomacy and shouts, “I’m coming back out there, _do not_ let me catch you making out on my sofa.”

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet now has a sequel, "[for tax purposes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661123)" -- hit "Next Work" or follow that direct link to read it!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Crowley is remembering Truman Capote's [Black and White Ball](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_and_White_Ball). They went all the way to New York for it-- Aziraphale must have _really_ missed masquerade balls.
> 
> Aziraphale is, of course, remembering [the Wedding at Cana](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marriage_at_Cana). He is right to remember that there was some fuss about running out of wine, and that the problem somehow seemed to solve itself, but he was having too nice a time to pay attention to the details.
> 
> * * *
> 
> (By the end of this conversation they do agree that, while they are, yes, _essentially_ already married, it would be nice to both get married at the same time and on purpose, and so they do end up having something like a proper wedding, although they describe it to anyone who asks as a renewal of vows. Which means, of course, that:
> 
> Crowley, taking credit for various contributions to the wedding industrial complex: actually this is _incredibly_ demonic, it ought to be the happiest day of their lives, even a _holy_ day, and instead they’re all going to be out of their minds with stress and having screaming fights about tablecloths, I am a _diabolical mastermind_
> 
> Crowley, 10 years later, buried under a snowdrift of bridal magazines and banned from the bookshop "until you're finished having hysterics about color schemes and are ready to discuss this like an adult": HOW DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] White lace and a bottomless wineglass - Elsajeni](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403651) by [LenaReads (LenaLawlipop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaReads)
  * [white lace and a bottomless wineglass [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429673) by [ipreferaviators](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipreferaviators/pseuds/ipreferaviators)


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